


One

by Tierra469



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gay Sex, M/M, Reincarnation, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016, The Last(?) Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Daryl's journey ends, he discovers just what he and Rick share... and that a new journey is just beginning. An edgy little tale about life, death, and life after life.</p><p>If you are squeamish about such a fic, don't fear - any of our beloved characters can only hope to go this well!</p><p>I don't own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters therein, which are not my creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One

Sometimes it felt like flying, and those were the best times. No matter that he could count all the times on one hand. This time… hell, this was one of the good ones.

In the dark, on the den floor, his tattered pants and boots in a heap nearby, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back and let his body move. It was like stalking an animal, when he was in the zone—all instinct, no ego. Like killing a walker—best to just feel your way. He left himself behind, let himself go, and rode the waves of pleasure like a merman riding the sea swells.

Each slow undulation started in his hips, then traveled up his spine, making him want to unfurl like a fern frond as warm, ecstatic feelings surged through him. His fists uncurled, one hand reaching out to steady himself, and finding the daybed beside him. The other hand took a trip up his body—palming his stiff cock, caressing his belly, finding a nipple beneath his open shirt and pinching.

He let out a long, soft _ahhhhh._

Then, suddenly, he was in his body no longer, but looking down at himself from somewhere near the ceiling. It was amazing—the strangest, most unsettling sensation he’d ever experienced. He looked down at his kneeling form, at the top of his own head, at his face tilted up to heaven. _How can I see if my eyes are closed?_ He wondered.

“Holy shit, Daryl, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” moaned a voice beneath him. “Damn… I’m gonna cum…”

Wings burned by the sun, Daryl plunged back to earth. The man beneath him tensed and shuddered, his hips losing their delicious rhythm, and Daryl cursed as he re-entered his earthly skin just in time to feel his lover shoot off a load inside him, grabbing Daryl’s ass and squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Daryl growled, employing his only known antidote to awkwardness. “I wasn’t nowhere near done.”

Jesus sighed and opened his eyes—all quicksilver and dark lashes in the moonlight—then gave Daryl a sheepish grin through his beard. “You wanna act like a porn star, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Daryl scowled and snorted. “Was just startin’ ta have fun, asshole.”

Paul raised himself up on his elbows, Daryl still in his lap. “Hey man,” he chastised, unfazed, “Goosfraba. You’ll get your turn.”

Daryl surely did get his turn, but even long after it was over, he lay awake in wonderment and stared at the moon through the blinds.

***

Even before everything went to shit, Daryl had been the type to sleep with one eye open and his bootlaces tied. But apparently he’d been so thunderstruck the night before that he’d forgotten to put his pants back on. Or even his drawers. So when Rick came looking for him at dawn, Jesus was just slipping out of the den and Daryl still sprawled on the floor like a drunk in an alley, an afghan barely covering his loins.

Rick stood there squinting down at him, a little smile playing around his lips. “You comin’?” he deadpanned. “Or did you already?”

“Ughh,” Daryl groaned, groping blindly for his clothes. “Fuck off, dickhead.”

***

Outside, in the soft grey light, Daryl hefted a crate of ammo into the trunk of the Chrysler with a grunt. Rick came up beside him and set another box in beside Daryl’s, and Daryl could feel the man’s eyes on him.

“Hey,” Rick said quietly, “how come you never told me?”

“Told you _what?_ ”

Rick straightened up, wiping his hands carefully on his jeans and glancing around for eavesdroppers. “That you’re, uh… y’know… gay.”

Daryl snorted, his lips curling in disgust. “I look like a flamin’ queer ta you?” He turned away, feeling a flush rising up his neck, but Rick grabbed his elbow and pulled him back.

“Ain’t what I meant—lemme rephrase that. How come you never told me you like men? I mean… I don’t care, but I’m kinda surprised I didn’t know. ‘Cause, y’know… I thought we were friends.”

The irony of that statement twisted painfully in Daryl’s gut, and he stood there and looked at Rick’s pink mouth, his handsome, bristly jaw, his squinting blue eyes, his headful of curls that begged to be touched. “O’ _course_ we’re friends,” Daryl confirmed softly, “But…” Then he added what felt like the biggest lie ever, punctuating it with a gentle touch of Rick’s arm, “…you didn’t need ta know.”

***

“You’re taking two cars on this trip, rather than the truck, so you can be more nimble,” Rick told the small group gathered around him. “If something happens to one vehicle, you’ll still have another. If one group is attacked, the other can respond. You’ll have radios.”

“We gonna take two separate routes?” Michonne asked.

“Not a good idea,” Jesus responded. “Highway 15 is the only cleared route to Hilltop. The other roads are a mess.”

“There’s a Texaco gas station about halfway there, in Thomaston,” Glenn noted. “That’ll be our emergency rendezvous. We get lost, separated, radios die—that’s the place to meet up.”

Daryl tried to listen to the briefing, but his mind kept wandering back to his experience the night before. To the strangeness of being out of his body, to be sure… but also to another feeling he’d had. It had just been a brief flash, but in that split second before Jesus ruined his Tantric trance, he’d felt something. An incredible expansiveness. A sense of oneness—not just with Paul, but with everyone and everything else, too. With his people, with the Alexandrians, with their damn dogs, the squirrels in the yards, the birds in the sky, the trees. The rocks. The entire Universe. The living, and oddly, the dead. Thinking of it again left him reeling. And looking around now at the people in the semi-circle—new friends and old—he felt a surge of fierce tenderness toward them. Where had all that come from?

He eyed Paul, standing across from him, leaning on the Buick. Had the dude worked some kind of voodoo on him? Maybe there was another reason his friends called him Jesus…

“… Daryl? Hey, Daryl… Ground Control to Major Tom…”

Daryl tore his gaze from Jesus’ face, and gave Glenn a grunt and his attention.

“You ready, man?” Glenn asked, looking at him hard.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Ok, then,” Rick said, lifting his hands as if in benediction. “Wish I was going with you, but not because you need me. Be safe.”

Daryl slid into the driver’s seat of the Chrysler and watched Glenn get behind the wheel of the Buick, Jesus and Sasha joining him. Aaron climbed into the backseat behind Daryl, and Michonne walked up to the passenger side door, followed closely by Rick. Daryl could just hear their quiet conversation outside the car as he settled his rifle next to him in the seat.

“You sure you want to go along on this trip?” Rick asked her.

Daryl could picture Michonne smiling at Rick’s concern. “Yeah, I do. I want to check these people out—see who we’re dealing with.”

They fell silent a moment, and Daryl knew Rick was kissing her goodbye.

“Besides,” she added, “you know absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Makes _somethin’_ grow,” Rick grumbled, and then Michonne was sliding into the seat next to Daryl.

Rick leaned in and stretched over Michonne to extend his hand to Daryl. Daryl gave him a quick clasp and a squeeze. “Bring ‘em back,” Rick murmured. The intense look he gave Daryl hurt… _I’m sorry for prying,_ it said… _You know I’m not judging you,_ it said. It hurt because Rick still didn’t understand that Daryl could never hold a grudge against him—no matter what.

Daryl nodded. “Ya know I will.”

***

Aaron piped up from the back seat—never one to abide silence for long. “I’m excited to see this place,” he said. “How many people do you think we’ll be training?”

“Rick said Hilltop had maybe 30 people willing to learn and able to fight. Maybe more,” Michonne replied. “They agreed to help us fight Negan, if we’d train them to shoot.”

“Gonna work with ‘em on hand-to-hand, too. Knife-fighting. Killing walkers. Maybe that blacksmith’ll make us some swords,” Daryl added, with a side-eye at Michonne.

Michonne chuckled, but the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. She continued scanning the roadsides nervously, as they all were. They understood now that Negan’s men could be anywhere at any time—and traveling these roads, it was only a matter of _when_ they met up with another patrol, not _if._ Negan’s thugs could also be rolling up to Alexandria anytime—which was why Rick and a contingent of armed men and women had stayed behind to guard the town.

With any luck, though, this ride would soon be over and they’d be at Hilltop inside two hours, pulling through the palisade gates.

“Did you say they had chickens?” Aaron asked.

***

About the time Aaron stopped grilling them and became engrossed in a map of the area, Daryl could feel Michonne’s eyes on him. She didn’t say anything, but kept glancing over, and finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

 _“What?”_ he grumbled, turning to her.

His right hand rested on the seat, and she snorted, then gently covered his hand with hers and squeezed a little. He looked down at her long, graceful, dark fingers latticed over his rough, scarred ones, powerful but pale in comparison.

“You ok with everything?” she said gently, looking at him hard.

His brow knitted and he crooked an eyebrow, not understanding.

“Rick and I… you ok with that?”

Daryl grunted, shrugging, looked back at the road. He pulled his hand out from under hers and pretended he had to scratch his head. _Was he ok with it?_ He hadn’t stopped to think about it. Hadn’t reckoned he had any choice _but_ to be ok with it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he drawled softly.

“I dunno. But you’ve barely looked at me since that first morning... I just wondered if maybe we need to talk.”

He turned to meet her gaze, and there it was again—that powerful force prying open the door of his heart, inviting everyone and everything in for a cosmic lovefest. The feeling of connection with Michonne was so incredible and startling that tears sprang to his eyes. He could see her own eyes widening in response to the dumbstruck look that he figured must be plastered on his face.

“Daryl…? Baby, watch the road—”

He tore his gaze away from her and corrected the car’s path, which would have carried them into a building momentarily; when he looked back at her the astounding feeling had faded, but its afterglow remained. He would have died for her before. And even if he was pissed at her (without even realizing it), he would die for her yet. But how could he be pissed at her for loving Rick? Hell, he loved Rick too. And Rick loved them both in his way, but that didn’t even matter. They were all one and the same love and lover and his breast felt so full he thought he might bust wide open.

Daryl reached out again and took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “It’s all good,” he finally told her, when he could speak again. “I’m happy for y’all. It’s all good.”

Just then, a movement in the rear-view mirror caught his eye—and he glanced up to see a black Jeep Cherokee swinging into the road behind them.

All good feeling disappeared, replaced by a blast of adrenaline. It looked just like the Jeep that had followed him out of town when he, Sasha and Abraham had been ambushed that spring.

“Shit, we got company!” he exclaimed, and Michonne and Aaron whirled in their seats to look behind them. A moment later, two more vehicles and two motorcycles pulled out behind the Jeep.

Daryl stepped on the gas, pulling up closer behind the Buick, which was traveling a hundred yards or so in front of them. “Glenn!” he called into his radio. “We got company! Pick up the pace!”

The Buick sped up, and Daryl could just make out a face in the backseat turning to look behind. “Who is it?” Glenn answered. “You sure they’re unfriendly?”

“We’re ‘bout ta find out…”

The vehicles following them drew closer and Daryl watched his speedometer needle rising… 75… 80… 90… 100 miles per hour… 110… If a walker staggered into the road now… He glanced back again to see the Jeep and a pickup truck side by side on the two-lane highway… looked again to see one of the passengers leaning out of a window, leveling a gun at them…

“These pricks are gunnin’ for us!” he hollered into the radio, barely daring to take one hand off the wheel to do it. “Cain’t that shitpile move any faster?”

“Givin’ it all I got!” Glenn’s voice replied.

Aaron grabbed his rifle and started to lower his window, but just then the rear windshield exploded into a million fragments, and the man dove down to the floor.

They all cursed, Michonne sliding down as well. Daryl was starting to feel desperate—they were on a long stretch of road with no major intersections in sight, and he wasn’t sure he could pull off a turn at this speed at any rate. It appeared that they were outnumbered and possibly outgunned by their pursuers—despite the rich store of guns and ammo in their trunks, which would make a pretty prize.

Aaron jumped back up and fired off a couple rounds through the broken window, before another two bullets tore open the front seat close to Daryl’s shoulder.

“What’s the plan, Daryl?” Michonne growled.

“Fuck! Ever’body just stay down a minute…” Looking ahead, Daryl could see an overpass approaching rapidly—a railroad bridge. On either side, sloping embankments and trees.

“Ok, listen up,” he told his passengers. “I’m ‘onna block the road up there and let Glenn get away. “We’re gonna head up onto the bridge and give these guys hell. Run outta ammo, and you run into the woods like yer asses is on fire. We’re closer to the Hilltop than the Texaco station—maybe four miles. We split up and meet there.”

He pushed the button on his radio. “Glenn, keep goin’ and don’t stop! We’re gonna detour these guys. We’ll meet you at Hilltop.”

 _“What?”_ Glenn barked.

A couple more bullets rattled into the car, and the overpass loomed closer.

“Do what yer told!” Daryl hollered into the radio, “Don’t look back!”

Then he turned to look at Aaron. “Buckle up,” he tossed back.

A moment later, the sound of screeching tires filled the air as he stood on the brakes, then jerked the wheel, sending the car into a skid that ended, just as he’d planned, with the Chrysler sideways and blocking the underpass.

Michonne opened the door and leapt out, then they were running, weapons in hand, panting, scrambling and clawing their way through the weeds and brambles, up the overgrown embankment and onto the railroad bridge. Daryl could see the approaching motorcade as he dropped to his belly at the edge of the bridge, propping his rifle up. He glanced over at Michonne and Aaron, who’d taken up similar positions—Michonne with an AR-15, Aaron with his .30-06.

A hundred yards from the bridge, the convoy came to an abrupt halt, and Negan’s men poured out of the vehicles, taking up defensive positions behind cars and car doors and truck beds.

“First two of ya to stand up and surrender get to live today!” somebody shouted into the sudden silence. “Last one is a rotten egg!”

Daryl didn’t even have to look at the other two. Nobody here was standing up today. He heard Michonne snort.

“FUCK YOU!” he bellowed, and all hell broke loose, the three of them unleashing a barrage of gunfire, answered by the small army below. He could hear bullets striking the cement around him, see stone chips flying, but he could also see that they’d felled a few of the men down on the road. Within what was probably only a minute or two, Aaron had used up his extra ammo, and he was on his last few shells as well.

“Cover me!” he hollered to Michonne, and as she sprayed the vehicles with bullets, he took his secret weapon out of his coat pocket. Jumping to his feet, he pulled the pin and heaved the grenade as far as he could. The Jeep suddenly exploded into a ball of flame, turning another man into a burning effigy of himself. The unlucky bastard ran around in tight circles screaming for a few seconds until one of his own men put a bullet in his flaming head.

Shouting and general chaos ensued below, assisted by a few more bullets from above, then three figures broke loose and darted into the trees on the southbound side of the road. Daryl fired at them, but the men had disappeared. Daryl knew where they were headed—up to the train tracks.

“We gotta get out of here,” Aaron called out nervously, echoing his thoughts.

The three of them scooted back and then stood and dashed down the tracks a short way, Daryl eyeing the tree cover in either direction. “That way,” he urged, pointing north, “double back toward ‘em. They won’t expect it. Cover’s heavy and you can get in deep. Jus’ run and don’t stop till you’ve lost ‘em. Then you can cross under the road at that big culvert a half-mile back. I’ll meet you at Hilltop.”

Michonne gaped at him wide-eyed. “What the hell are _you_ gonna do?”

“Gonna draw ‘em off and take out a few more.”

“Daryl…”

“Don’t fuckin’ argue, we ain’t got time. Go!”

Adjusting the sword on her back, Michonne scowled but she nodded. Aaron gave him one last look, then they were off, disappearing into a thick growth of honeysuckle.

Daryl stood panting on the tracks and waited. Five seconds. Ten. He lifted his rifle and sighted down the barrel, and as the first of Negan’s men came into view, he pulled the trigger. The man dropped, then two more popped up and began laying lead.

“Shit,” he spat, then turned and ran. He sprinted down the tracks as far as he dared, hollering like an idiot as if there were people running in front of him; then slid down off the gravel embankment and plunged into the woods, heading south. He could hear the men following, hear their shouts and occasional gunfire. The woods were piney here and thin, and he could spot his pursuers at times; twice he stopped and braced himself against a tree and took a shot, then hustled off, not knowing if he’d found his target.

Daryl could hear the river before he could see it; a moment later, he had stopped short on a steep bank plunging perhaps 40 feet to a rocky creek bed. There wasn’t a lot of water this time of year, but it made a pleasant rushing sound over the rocks. He looked downstream, but could see no way to climb down to the river without injuring himself. Upstream rose the railroad trestle. A gunshot rang out, and he heard a splintering sound as a bullet buried itself in the oak beside him.

He made for the trestle.

It was an old iron bridge, perhaps 400 feet long, spanning the Acheron River, according to the sign. He hesitated here a split second. The bridge would take him out into the open, and he wasn’t sure he could gain the other side before Negan’s men reached this end. But if he passed up the bridge and crossed the railroad tracks now, he ran the risk of leading them to Michonne and Aaron…

The railroad ties were sturdy, but he could see the river flowing between them, and it was awkward trying to land his feet just right without catching a toe and stumbling. He was perhaps halfway across when the bridge began to sing, bullets bouncing off the iron framework and struts and ricocheting past him.

He could hear the shouting behind him and the blasts, and there was nothing he could do now but run, just run… be Zen, Daryl… one foot after the other… head down and fuckin’ RUN.

The singing grew louder, and the bridge itself seemed to vibrate—and then he was across, back on terra firma, and he dove into the sheltering forest and headed south without looking back.

***

He wasn’t sure when the men had halted their pursuit—only that they had, and he was now alone in what must have been a state forest, walking slowly along the high riverbank. The sun had set across the water a short while ago in a blaze of vivid gold, orange and pink, and dusk now sent its tendrils into the woods, deepening the shadows. Fall crickets sang, and small critters rustled off into the brush as he passed. Daryl looked up to see a star winking in the sky, and stopped, leaning against a pine.

He was only a couple miles from Hilltop, he reckoned. Glenn, Jesus and Sasha would be pacing the floor waiting. With any luck, Aaron and Michonne would arrive shortly after him. He thought he ought to be anxious about them, but something told him they would be just fine. Nevertheless, he’d be some glad to see them. He imagined they’d all have a bite to eat and maybe even a beer or two, before finding some nice, soft beds to sleep in—or not. Daryl had planned to take Jesus up on his offer to crash in his trailer and “fuck till our eyes cross,” as he’d put it. 

Hilltop was only two more miles, and he wanted to see his people… so why couldn’t he bring himself to go one more step?

Something was drawing him back, urging him to turn, and each step farther he traveled from Alexandria, that feeling grew stronger. He couldn’t deny it anymore—he wanted to turn back.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Rick.

Daryl couldn’t say why, but every fiber of his being yearned to see the man again. He felt drawn as if by a powerful magnet, caught and reeled back like a fish on a hook. He had missed Rick desperately a couple times before—after the prison fell, or the time he left with Merle—but somehow this was different. This felt like dying of thirst, like freezing to death, like bleeding out slowly. A demand so dire it could not be denied.

It was a long way back to Alexandria—close to 20 miles. The car would no doubt be gone; he’d have to walk. Negan’s men could still be lurking by the highway or the tracks.

Daryl gazed south toward Hilltop, downriver, and could just make out the constellation Saggitarius above the horizon, the celestial archer pointing his arrow at the heart of Scorpius. As he stood and stared, a white egret lifted off from an eddy pool below and began flapping its way north, low over the water. He watched it glide upriver toward and then past him, a pale spirit, until it disappeared into the dusky distance. Toward Alexandria.

Even without wings, he could still follow.

***

Two hours before dawn, Alexandria lay quiet as a tomb. Daryl approached the gate, easily skirting a couple of roamers shuffling, heads down, as if sleepwalking. No one responded to his soft shout. Where was the guard? He paced back and forth, trying to peer inside, and finally tried pounding on the iron bars with a piece of 2x4. A moment later, Tobin—looking completely spooked—slid the screen open and pointed a gun at him through the small opening.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

“It’s _me_ man,” Daryl growled. “Now lemme in.”

Tobin scowled, looked left and right, then ducked back behind the sheet metal. Daryl could hear him on his radio, talking to whoever was up on the wall nearby.

“Hey, c’mon…” Daryl groused. “I ain’t been followed—don’t worry.”

Tobin appeared again, this time sliding the fence open and standing aside, rifle at the ready, looking up and down the wall.

“Thanks, dumbass,” Daryl said, and slipping past, made a beeline for Rick’s house.

***

Rick must have fallen asleep on the sofa again—he did that when he was anxious. Daryl looked at his sleeping, outstretched form, safe and warm, and felt a deep gratitude. He also felt a bit of guilt. Would Rick want to see him, after he’d left Michonne and Aaron in the woods to their own devices—then returned to Alexandria just trusting that they’d be alright? When he was supposed to be at Hilltop?

He dropped to his knees at Rick’s side, not knowing what he really wanted from Rick—only that he wanted to be here, with him. He touched Rick’s face, leaned over to gaze at him.

“Rick,” he whispered. “Rick, wake up, it’s me.”

Rick gasped softly, startled, and blinked up at Daryl, eyes wide in the darkness.

“It’s ok,” Daryl murmured. “Nothin’s wrong. We had a little run-in on the way, but it’s all good now. They’re all at Hilltop. I just… I just wanted to come back and see if you were ok. I had a funny feeling. Didn’t mean ta scare you.”

Rick just stared, his brow furrowing.

“Listen, I just… I wanted to say sorry for not bein’ totally honest with you. ‘Cause you’re the best friend I ever had and… and I was scared at first ta tell you I like dudes ‘cause I didn’t want you thinkin’ shit about me. Like that I might be a pussy, or I might do somethin’ stupid that would jeopardize our friendship or… you know. But I did… I did want to tell you…”

Rick closed his eyes, lifting a hand slowly to pinch the bridge of his nose, and let out a shaky sigh.

“I wanted to tell you ‘cause… shit, I prob’ly shouldn’t, but I’m gonna be really honest… I would never wanna push you or make you uncomfortable, but I would’a liked to be the one in yer bed. It don’t… it don’t matter none and it don’t change nothin’ between me ‘n you or me ‘n Michonne, but I… I feel you and I would let you fuck me ‘n everything if you… if you asked.”

Silence.

“Damn,” Daryl said quietly, “I’m layin’ it all out there, man. Least look at me—gimme a sign or somethin’…”

Rick dropped his hand and looked up again, lips parting invitingly, head tilting back… it was all the sign Daryl needed. He bent over Rick and kissed that luscious mouth as tenderly and lovingly as he knew how.

Rick sucked in a breath, shivering in surprise, and Daryl pulled back.

“Daryl…?” Rick breathed.

Something inside Rick reached out fervently for something inside Daryl… and the collision of their two souls felt like two locomotives meeting on the same track—a half-million pounds of harnessed power melding and joining and exploding in a fiery crash. The brilliant white light and igneous heat melted their two bodies completely away, like impurities in a furnace, and fused their immortal souls together for that moment as one being. One.

Making One with Rick felt different than the Oneness with Everything he’d experienced just 24 hours ago while knocking boots with Paul. This One was made of just two—two who had always existed together, and always would, until the two became one with the BIG One.

And as Daryl experienced this One, he was given to see that the two of them—Rick and Daryl—had been two together many, many times before. Down through the earth’s centuries, they had slipped like thieves in and out of each other’s lives, paying each other’s karmic debts, teaching each other Love’s lessons, always discovering and rediscovering the One. He saw himself with Rick, always with Rick—a husband, a wife, a lover, a brother… a friend. He saw himself a Sioux warrior, a prairie wife, a Roman soldier, a Hebrew slave. He’d been a Gypsy king and a common beggar, a preacher and a prostitute, a farmer and a fisherman. Each time he’d learned, or not, and returned again. Each time he’d had to search the thousands of faces of his lifetime for the needle in the haystack… the beloved Other. The Other that would make him One.

Now he saw himself as a young man in a small apartment, lazing naked in bed on a Saturday morning with his lover—who was not only handsome and well-hung, but also possessed of a clever mind and a zealous temperament, both in bed and out. In this lifetime, (definitely one of Daryl’s favorites, he recalled) he and Rick were students, poets, dreamers and revolutionaries. They were childhood friends become lovers. They were inseparable. Until they weren’t—but that was another day.

_Hearing voices and a door closing out in the hall, he calculated the right moment to leap from the bed and run to the window. “Marie!” he called down to the street, leaning head and shoulders out over the ledge, “Apportez-moi un journal!”_

_The girl turned and called saucily back up to him, “What’s in it for me, René?”_

_“Tu sais que je suis votre humble serviteur!” he answered, giving her his most disarming smile._

_She giggled. “We all know whose humble servant you are!”_

_“Oui,” growled a sleepy voice behind him. He turned to see Quentin standing behind him, felt the man’s hands take hold of his hips._

_He laughed. “Please, Marie, just a newspaper for your favorite… ah!”_

_Quentin began rubbing his hard, spit-slicked member up and down between René’s buttocks, and René turned and threw him a look._

_“Your favorite what?” Marie asked._

_“Why, your favorite… Oh!”_

_René’s body, still pliant from the night’s love-play, offered Quentin no resistance—and the man easily buried his unsheathed sword to the hilt in his lover’s ass as René hung halfway out the window._

_Quentin poked his head out over René’s shoulder. “Your favorite neighbors!” he shouted with a grin. “How about some tobacco, too?”_

_Blushing, Marie covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile, then turned and ran down the narrow, cobblestone street toward the corner market. An old man, a woman with a baby, and a small flock of children paused to gaze up at René curiously as they passed._

_“Salaud! Let me come back in! People are staring!”_

_“Let them look!” Quentin exclaimed grandly. “What they’ll see is love!”_

_That morning, René let Quentin fuck him there in the window, with the spring sunshine on his face and the warm breeze ruffling his hair. He could hear the passersby talking and birds chirping, and smell the bread from the bakery next door—and he and his lover were One. One right there in the window, their bodies joined and their souls singing._

_“Jean-René, tell the world you love me,” Quentin entreated, panting._

_“Je t’aime!” René cried into the street, as Quentin’s thrusting cock lit him up from the inside._

_“Louder!” Quentin demanded. “All the world!”_

_“Je t’aime!” René shouted as loud as he could, laughing._

_And all the world knew._

***

Rick awoke completely disoriented. Bright sunshine streamed into the room, and he heard soft voices nearby, the sounds of dishes banging in the kitchen, a baby babbling—but for a moment, he could make sense of none of it. He’d just been tangled in the sheets with his young gay lover, in their tiny third-floor apartment in the city. He blinked up at the ceiling, and as his dream gently withdrew, he felt a horrible sense of loss. Was it a dream? It felt so real! He closed his eyes again, trying to hold on to the vision… to the face of the man he’d been kissing. It was not a face he recognized, yet it was someone he _knew_ intimately. Someone he loved profoundly. How could that be?

It struck him that the man was _Daryl._ Daryl, but not Daryl. He’d been making love to Daryl, he _loved_ Daryl, and that deep feeling of connection still lingered… he relaxed into it again for a moment, and felt it suffuse his whole being with a beautiful calmness, a joy. His body also felt incredibly warm and relaxed, as if he’d just… _oh, hell_ , he had.

“Dad? You ok?”

“Huh? Oh… yeah, Carl… I’m fine. Just movin’ a little slow this morning. Gimme a minute.”

The spell broken, Rick forced himself to smile sleepily at his son, then slowly maneuvered himself up off the sofa and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, acutely aware of the semen dripping down his leg inside his jeans.

All morning, he couldn’t take his mind off the dream. It seemed more like a vision—a memory. But how was that possible? And what did it mean? He’d never thought about having sex with a guy before—but now he couldn’t get this man out of his head. And then there was the mind-blowing connection—the sense that this person— _Daryl—_ was not just a friend or a lover, but something much deeper.

He also thought he remembered Daryl himself coming to talk to him late last night. Telling him something important. Even… kissing him? But Daryl wasn’t here—he was at Hilltop. Wasn’t he?

He walked around half-dazed, confused and pre-occupied, not really accomplishing anything. Twice he thought he smelled someone smoking Morleys, and ducked around a corner to find… nothing. He was standing at the water’s edge, just staring into the pond, when he heard a car drive in through the gate and turned to see the Buick coming up the street toward him.

Michonne, Aaron and Jesus got out at the curb, their faces somber. Rick’s heart plummeted. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Rick…” Michonne began gently, stepping up to him, “we left Glenn and Sasha at Hilltop for the training, but we came back because Daryl never showed up.”

She told him the story, of the ambush and the car chase and how Daryl had blocked the road, and he, Michonne and Aaron had made a stand on the bridge. Then they’d separated, and Daryl had disappeared. They had returned to the bridge with Jesus this morning, but the Chrysler and its load of weapons was gone, and Daryl nowhere to be found.

“Is he _here_?” Aaron asked hopefully.

Rick felt a sudden chill, and began to tremble. “I… I don’ know…”

***

Hardly anyone spoke on the drive from Alexandria back to the overpass. They drove into the woods and hid the car this time, and by the time they all climbed out, Daryl decided he’d had just about enough.

“Y’all can stop now,” he growled at them all. “I get it—I fucked up. I lost the car, I left Michonne, I left Aaron, and I didn’t go to Hilltop.” He didn’t bother to mention the fact that he’d come on pretty damn strong to Rick and lay all night with him on the sofa, stuck to him like a tick—he was sure he was being punished for that too.

But this was too much.

Rick had acted miserable all morning. Now _no one_ would look at him or talk to him—worse, they were pretending he wasn’t even there. They were pretending to look for him!

“D’you hear me?!” he cried, following his friends up the embankment. “Joke’s over! We can go home now! Why the hell are we here? What the fuck are you trying to prove?! I fucked up and I know it. I’m SORRY!”

Gaining the top of the bridge, they all turned and Michonne gestured to the roadway below. “We took at least eight of them out from up here. Then three of them got into the woods and up to the tracks, so we headed off that way.” She jerked her head in the direction of the trestle, and the group started down the tracks, feet crunching on gravel, stopping where Daryl had left them the day before.

“This is the last place we saw him,” Aaron said solemnly. “He told us he was going to draw them off and take out a few more. He told us to head north, into the heavy cover, then circle around and meet him at Hilltop.”

“It wadn’t a bad plan!” Daryl hollered. “Gimme a fuckin’ break here! I was doin’ the best I could!”

“Daryl started shooting at them,” Aaron continued, “and they returned fire. Then it sounded like they must have chased him off to the south. We heard shooting for at least another fifteen minutes, and it kept on moving away from us.”

Rick nodded, gazing down the train tracks. “So let’s… let’s go that way. We’ll spread out in the woods, call a little bit, look for sign. We’ll go a couple miles and see what we see.”

“We did that this morning,” Jesus said gently. “We found some tracks, a few bullets in trees. Then we lost the trail.”

“So we do it again,” Rick replied.

“Are you _fuckin’ kidding me_ right now?” Daryl spat. He stormed down off the rails to the edge of the woods, before he could give in to the urge to knock their heads together. Watching his friends split into two pairs and set out on either side of the right-of-way, he just stood there for a minute, not knowing what to do. Not wanting to follow and continue this stupid charade, but not wanting to leave them either.

Daryl heard a noise behind him, and turned around to see three walkers shuffling through the leaves, heading in his direction. What had been a young woman in pajamas, an old man in a suit, and a guy in a red flannel shirt and jeans staggered toward him, suffering from various stages of decay. He pulled his knife from its sheath and stood waiting as they meandered through the trees, stumbling and hissing. The first one approached within twelve feet, and he waggled his fingers at it.

“C’mon,” he beckoned, holding his knife at the ready, “Come to papa…”

But the rotting woman didn’t even give him a glance—her attention was fixed on Aaron and Jesus as they trotted into the woods ahead, and she veered away after them, stumbling and bouncing off a tree. Stunned, Daryl turned to the guy in the flannel, jumping in front of him, then leaping away again just before the walker could crash right into him—without ever noticing him.

The walkers had no trouble seeing Aaron, apparently, who had turned around and hacked into the girl with his machete; Jesus was preparing to do likewise to the erstwhile lumberjack.

Daryl let his arms fall to his sides as he watched the old man trundle past him, too.

That’s when it struck him. When it all began to make sense. The walkers were dead… but he must be deader.

***

By the time his friends reached the near end of the railroad trestle, Daryl was desperately miserable. Rick and Michonne came from the north side of the tracks and met Aaron and Jesus working over from the south side.

Rick’s hair was a wild tangle from bushwhacking through brush and saplings, and Michonne had leaves stuck in her dreads. “Anything?” Rick asked.

Aaron sighed and Jesus nodded. “We followed their trail to here,” Paul replied.

Rick frowned. “So if he didn’t cross the tracks, he must have crossed the river.”

They all turned and stared down the trestle, and Daryl followed their gaze. He felt a terrible sense of impending doom. It didn’t matter that he was already dead… _they_ didn’t know that, and something told him they were about to find out. _This_ was his worst nightmare—letting people down. Letting those he loved down. Letting Rick down.

A branch broke behind them in the woods, and they all whirled around, guns at the ready. Nobody spoke or moved for a moment as they stared into the trees. Something shuffled toward them, stepping and sliding and stumbling in the leaves.

A walker. Just one. Nobody moved.

A walker in dark clothing.

Daryl looked at Rick and saw the fear in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and knew what he was thinking… but when the walker emerged it was an old woman. Michonne stepped up and sliced her head off with surprising viciousness.

His people looked at each other silently, then without a word stepped out onto the bridge.

Daryl didn’t want to step out onto that bridge. He didn’t want _them_ to step out onto that bridge. He’d rather go to hell than watch his people suffer another minute because of him—but today that would not be a choice. He knew he _had_ to go, and that somehow he had to know. Had to bear witness. He’d put it off too long. So he followed.

The wooden supports were splintered here and there and peppered with bullet holes, and Rick seemed to want to stop and examine each one as they made their way out over the river. But he needn’t have been so thorough. About 100 feet from the far shore, Jesus gave a shout, and Michonne, Rick and Aaron all broke into a run to catch up to him.

Daryl slipped up behind to peer over their shoulders, and watched Rick drop to his knees. There was blood on the railroad ties, on the rail, and on the iron beam there—a lot of blood. Scowling, Rick reached out and dipped his fingers in it—it was drying around the edges, but still plenty wet. There were smears, as if it had been disturbed. Smears on the ties, and smears up on the iron beam and wooden supports. Footprints in the gore. And here… more blood, brain matter, and a bullet hole in a railroad tie. A head shot.

“It’s not Daryl,” Aaron blurted. “It was one of their guys and they took him. Why would they take Daryl? Why even put him down?”

Michonne made a gasping little hiccup, and they all turned to look at her. She was looking down over the side of the trestle, into the river. “They didn’t take him…” she breathed.

Rick stood up slowly, staring at her face, then turned and broke into a run for the near end of the bridge.

Daryl rushed to catch up to him. He couldn’t let Rick see this. He couldn’t. “Wait!” he begged Rick. “Stop! Hold up! Rick, please! C’mon, don’t go down there…” He tried to grab Rick, to hold him back, but failed even to slow him.

Rick and Daryl went scrambling, slipping, sliding and crashing down the steep bank, their three companions following as best they could through the brambles and brush and poison ivy—and when he reached the shore, Rick strode out into water up to his shins, soaking his boots and splashing between the stones and over tumbled tree trunks and through tangles of branches and debris until they reached the body that lay sprawled face-down in the gentle current and caught between the rocks—white wings damp on the back of the leather vest.

Daryl was surprised to feel nothing for this body but a mild curiosity. He stood there staring down at it for a moment and remembered the morning, just two days ago, when he’d looked down at himself from the ceiling. His body had been alive and joyful then. And now he was seeing it again—lifeless. He had so identified with it—with its scars and tattoos and bruises. With its awkwardness and grace, traumas and talents, pleasure and pain. But clearly, it was not _him._ It was just a vehicle, like his motorcycle, for him to ride. And vehicles didn’t last forever.

Rick knelt in the water beside the body, touched the bullet hole in the back of the vest. Then he began struggling to turn it over. Daryl watched as Aaron and Jesus splashed up beside him and helped. Aaron held the dripping head out of the water as Rick fingered the tattered shirt, finding the exit wound in the chest that had exploded Daryl’s heart. A small bullet hole between the eyes had kept the body from re-animating. For that Daryl was grateful.

Working together, the four of them lifted the body and staggered with it, slipping, falling and rising, to shore, where they laid it down gently on the stony bank.

“He died instantly,” Rick murmured, kneeling down beside the corpse again. “He didn’t suffer. And he didn’t turn.”

“Amen,” Jesus said quietly, standing near.

Aaron’s face crumpled, and he wiped the back of a muddy hand across his eyes.

Michonne was walking away down the shore, hunched over and holding herself tightly.

Daryl watched Rick lift one of the body’s pale, icy hands and hold it, then bend his head low to lay his forehead on the wet, lifeless breast. He let out an anguished moan.

Daryl dropped down beside Rick and tried in vain to hold him, to comfort him. “Rick, it’s ok,” he whispered in the man’s ear. “It’s really ok, man. I’m here. I’m still here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Rick moaned again and began to cry, hiccupping and sobbing softly as if his heart was breaking. Daryl hadn’t heard him cry like that since Lori died.

Hell couldn’t be any worse than this, Daryl thought. “Please, Rick… please,” he begged. “Just listen to me… hear me…”

Suddenly, Daryl felt a touch on his back, and a warm soothing energy surge through him. A gentle voice he recognized spoke to him in a soft, southern drawl. “He cain’t hear you like this.”

Daryl stood up and turned to see Beth standing behind him, smiling gently. She looked radiant.

“Why not?” he asked plaintively, desperate to help. “He heard me last night. He _felt_ me. I know it.”

“He’s too sad right now,” she replied simply. “He can’t listen.”

Beth took Daryl’s hand, and he felt that warmth again, comforting and infusing him, lifting his energy. He hadn’t realized how tired he was… “How can I help him, then?” he pled.

She gazed at him sweetly. “Come with me,” she said, “and I’ll show you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t go. I can’t leave him, Beth. He needs me. I gotta stay.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she replied, with a tilt of her head. “ _We_ knew you’d say that. That’s why we showed you so much yesterday. You remember all the things you felt? The things you dreamed?”

“Of course…”

“We’re _all_ connected. But you and Rick are soulmates. You can never really leave him. No matter where you are.”

“Then why can’t I stay?”

Her face turned wistful. “You can, if you insist. But I hope you won’t. If you _really_ want to help Rick, then you can’t stay here. And if you want to return again with him someday, you can’t stay either. You need to come with me. Please, Daryl.”

He looked back at Rick, still sobbing alone on his corpse, and felt a whirl of emotions tumbling inside him like a washing machine. How could he possibly leave Rick’s side now, just when Rick needed him most? Just when he’d learned exactly what Rick meant to him?

“It’s not _fair_!” he complained bitterly.

 _“Fair?”_ said a familiar voice on his left, and he turned to see Merle standing on the other side of him, eyebrows raised. “Listen to the guy who just won the lottery complainin’ about _fair_! You just got dropped like a rock and put out o’ your misery, then they heaved your ass into the river so your friends could find a nice, shiny clean carcass. Hell, you checked out so quick you didn’t even know you was dead till a couple minutes ago! Sheriff Rick called it, Little Brother—you didn’t suffer. And your friends didn’t have to find you wanderin’ around chewin’ on people.”

Daryl scowled, remembering how he’d felt the day he found his own brother eating a corpse—gone as a rabid dog. “That ain’t funny, Merle.”

Merle smiled—not the smug smirk Daryl always wanted to wipe off his face, but an actual smile. One that used to appear only when he was high. Daryl doubted that they had pot brownies in heaven…

“I know it ain’t. I’m just tryin’ to make a point. An’ you can thank me an’ Beth later for workin’ like slaves to pull all that off for you. So you’re welcome.”

Daryl looked hard at the both of them. “ _You_ did all that?”

“We helped,” Beth chirped. “Wish we could’ve stopped the whole thing, but that wasn’t to be. It was your time. But we helped.”

Merle stepped up close and draped an arm around Daryl’s shoulders. There was that peaceful warmth again. “See, Little Brother,” Merle said, “you can help your Sheriff, but only if you cross over first.”

Daryl watched Michonne return slowly and kneel to comfort Rick, putting an arm around him and stroking his back while she let her own tears flow freely.

“How can I just leave him, man? How can I leave _all_ of ‘em? I’m the only one knows how to hunt…”

Merle sighed. “What kinda crossbow d’you think they make for Casper? Listen, it’s your choice—but if you stay here now, you’re just gonna burn down like a candle until you’re nothing but a little wick in a puddle. You’ll be walkin’ the floor every night moanin’ like the wind, ‘cause you cain’t do nothin’ else. You’ll be impotent as an old man. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Daryl said in a small voice.

“Remember in _Star Wars_ , when old man Kenobi was fightin’ Darth Vader, and he said ‘If you strike me down, I’m gonna come back more powerful than ever’? Somethin’ like that?”

“It was ‘Obi Wan’ Kenobi. And yeah, I remember.”

“Well, that’s how it works. Only if you want that power, you’ve got to come with us. Just for a little bit. Then you can come back and really do shit.”

Daryl felt Merle’s warmth, his _love,_ and saw that the man looked young, healthy—hell, even happy. He wouldn’t have thought it was actually Merle, except that he _knew_ it was. And Merle had helped him. Merle and Beth had been there for him, in what could have been his darkest, loneliest hour, lighting his way. They had helped him. And he could still help Rick.

“OK,” he said decisively. “Ok, I’m ready. I want to help. Let’s go.”

“Great!” Beth beamed up at him. “So if we go right now, we can have you all cleaned up and back in time for your funeral tomorrow. You don’t want to miss that.”

“I get a _funeral?_ ”

“Of course you do! Just wait till you see it.”

***

Beth was right—he did get a funeral. A real funeral, in a church, with a simple wooden casket and a preacher and flowers. The pews were full of people—people he loved and people he barely knew, but had given rabbits to, or fixed a door for, or fetched some item for on a run. Daryl was blown away.

Daryl and Merle stood in the back, and Beth turned and winked at him as she followed Maggie to her seat with Glenn. As he looked around, he realized they weren’t the only attendees there in spirit. There were a passel of children surrounding Carol, including Sophia, who turned and waved. Tyreese and Karen and Bob sat near Sasha, and he watched Beth slide over a moment later to make room for Hershel. Rick sat stiffly near the end of the front pew, Michonne and Carl on either side of him, with Lori hovering over her boys, stroking their hair.

Daryl thought his heart would burst—it was like Christmas, seeing them all in one place like that. He was indeed glad he’d come. He could hardly believe all this was for him.

Gabriel stood up at the podium before them and began to speak. “John 15:13 says, ‘Greater love hath no man than this… that a man lay down his life for his friends.’”

Merle gave Daryl an elbow. “That’s you they’re talkin’ about, man,” he whispered, grinning.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Daryl said in wonderment.

“They love you—you know that?”

Daryl nodded, smiling from ear to ear, soaking it all up. “Yeah… they really do.”

About the time the young, red-headed woman got up and sang “Oh Shenandoah,” in a clear, lovely voice, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Daryl felt their sorrow and sense of loss, but he understood   now that there was no real loss, and that they would never truly part. They were all One. One.

As the service ended, he walked to the front of the room and knelt down in front of Rick, laying his hands on the man’s wet cheeks, and sending him that same comforting energy that Beth had given him yesterday. Rick opened his reddened eyes, and seemed to look right into Daryl.

“I love you,” Daryl told him. “And I’ll always have your back. Every morning this week, I’m gonna send you a white egret. When you see it, think of me. Think of us together again.”

Rick sighed, and Daryl stood up and kissed him gently on the forehead, then walked back toward Merle.

“You ready, Little Brother?” Merle reached out a hand, and Daryl clasped it.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s blow this joint.”

Merle pushed the door of the church open, and together they stepped out into the brilliant white light.

 

_“It is pretty stupid of us to go out there.”_

_“Yup. Do it again tomorrow?”_

_“Yup.”_

_\- Rick and Daryl_

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I was thinking 'If they're going to kill off Daryl, I'm going to do it first, and I'm going to do it my way.' Hence this bizarre little story, which I hope didn't devolve into too much mushiness. I always get stressed out and weird as the season ends! If you liked it or didn't, please let me know. What worked for you? What didn't? I live for your comments!


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